


when i turn around you’ll tell me how you’re fine now

by AuroraWest



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Established Relationship, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gang Rape, M/M, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape/Non-con Elements, Whump, at least the stuff between Loki and Stephen is loving, hurt/some comfort, there's even some tentacle rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24727171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraWest/pseuds/AuroraWest
Summary: The problem with living a safe, stable, happy life was that on those occasions where things were neither safe nor stable, one tended to forget the good habits that one had learned over the preceding years.Or, Loki will do anything to keep Stephen Strange alive, no matter how unpleasant.
Relationships: Loki/Stephen Strange, Satana Hellstrom/Loki
Comments: 13
Kudos: 72
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo





	when i turn around you’ll tell me how you’re fine now

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Bad Things Happen Bingo. Fills are Knife to the Throat, Attacked in Their Sleep, and Forced to Watch.
> 
> Title is a bastardized line from 'War Paint' by The Dangerous Summer.
> 
> Brief note on Satana - she's best considered more of an original character; I didn't pay any attention to her actual canon characterization.

The problem with living a safe, stable, happy life was that on those occasions where things were neither safe nor stable, one tended to forget the good habits that one had learned over the preceding years.

“Paranoia, you mean,” Stephen had said the first time Loki had indicated that yes, he _did_ sleep with a weapon nearby, whether it was in his pocket dimension, strapped to his body, or under his pillow, and yes, he could have it in his hand within a second of waking, because he had a little thing called good sense.

“You should talk,” Loki had retorted. “You’re not exactly a heavy sleeper yourself.”

“Never was; what do you think makes me so good at this job?” Stephen had said, grinning. “I mean, besides the natural talent, the quick wits, and the unparalleled skill?”

Loki had rolled his eyes and shifted the blade in his hand, which Stephen had just found wedged between the mattress and the headboard of Loki’s bed. To his very great credit, Stephen hadn’t looked at all alarmed by this motion. In fact, he’d looked a bit turned on. So Loki had tossed the knife with a flick of his wrist, sending it across the room to stick cleanly into the wall, and then he’d said, “Shut up, Strange,” and kissed him. There had probably been a double entendre to be made at that juncture, something about beds and impaling, but Loki had settled for directness over subtlety and simply taken Stephen’s clothes off.

Anyway, the point was, good habits—or paranoia, if one preferred—had kept Loki alive and in one piece on numerous occasions. But it turned out that when life got comfortable and remained that way for enough years in a row, these habits could atrophy, leaving one open and vulnerable to attack.

Case in point, Loki started awake, the instinct to lash out bringing a spell to his fingertips. The only thing that stopped him was the feeling of a cold blade at his throat, the sharp edge digging in enough to sting, and a woman’s voice saying, “I don’t think you want to do that.”

He opened his eyes to find himself staring into the mostly-bared cleavage of a woman in a skintight red…item. Calling it a jumpsuit implied the existence of more fabric than was actually there. The cleavage was a good view, he had to admit, but the knife at his throat, and the dangerous way the words had been purred to him, rather kept him from appreciating it. Raising his eyes, he found himself staring into the face of a woman with two horns spiraling out from her forehead.

“Yeah, hi,” she said. “Eyes up here. You don’t get to look for free.” A smile curved at her lips when he did as she said. It wasn’t particularly nice. Holding out a hand—but not removing the blade from his throat—she said, “You must be the boyfriend.”

Loki’s eyes shifted, looking for Stephen, wondering why he hadn’t dispatched these people already—oh. Something big and ugly was holding him against the wall and Loki could see, now that he was looking around, that there was some kind of magical field around the room. If he concentrated, he could feel a sort of tug at his magic, as though the field was trying to hook into it to siphon it away, but there was nothing for it to grab. Hmph. That made for a change—normally it was his magic that people seemed to find a way to counter. Stephen, on the other hand, seemed quite powerless.

“It’s impolite not to shake a lady’s hand,” the woman said, smiling. Her teeth were pointed.

With a cold smile, he did so and said, “Loki. You may have heard of me.”

“ _Lo_ ki,” she said, lighting up in a way that didn’t bode well, though he couldn’t have explained why. Well, there was the dagger at his throat, that was a bit of a clue.

“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure,” he said.

Her smile got more pointed. “Satana,” she replied. “Satana Hellstrom.”

“A demon, I take it,” he said casually, taking his hand back.

With a fluid shrug, she replied, “A succubus, if you’d like to be technical.”

“Mm. Well. Precision _is_ important.”

This seemed to delight her. “It _is_ , isn’t it? I completely agree. I like you already Loki. I think we’re going to get along _really_ well.”

“Mm.” The repetition of this syllable didn’t invoke any kind of reaction from her. He was only keeping her talking while his mind worked out how to remove Stephen and himself from this situation. Clearly, she’d used her powers to drain Stephen’s ability to use his magic or to interrupt it in some way. There was still a knife at Loki’s throat, but he was far less concerned with that than the creature that had Stephen pinned against the wall. Stephen looked like he was struggling to breathe.

His eyes flicking back to Satana, Loki asked, “I’d be remiss if I didn’t ask—to what do we owe the pleasure of your company? Not to mention your…associates’.” There were several more of them, he noted, standing around the room staring at him. Each one of them somehow managed to be uglier than the last. “Especially at this…late hour,” he added.

Satana sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding the knife at his throat. She was also still smiling. “Oh, I’ve been trying to make an appointment to see Stephen for _ages_. For some reason, he never seems available. Why is that, Stephen?”

When she looked over her shoulder at him, Stephen only seemed able to make a gurgling sound. The anxiety that had already been winding steadily tighter in Loki’s chest knotted itself, making it a struggle to maintain an even expression.

With a delicate laugh, which somehow seemed to carry overtones of agonized screams and the bubble of blood, Satana said, “Oh, Stephen. That’s right. When I let you speak, you…how should I put it? You screw me over.”

Abruptly, she pulled the knife away from Loki’s throat. Before he had a chance to react—preferably with an overwhelming display of magic—two of Satana’s demon goons closed in around him. One of them had seven arms (seven? Why seven? Why couldn’t it have been an even number?) and the other had no arms at all, only tentacles.

“How long have you two been together?” she asked, as though they were casual acquaintances who’d run into each other in the street.

Loki smiled pleasantly. “Oh, I don’t keep track. A while. How do you know Stephen?”

She crossed the room, her hips swinging, to stand in front of Stephen, where she twirled a strand of her white hair around a finger. “Stephen and I go back a ways,” she said. “He skipped town and still owed me a debt. And I don’t like to keep debts outstanding.” From the side, Loki could see a sharp-toothed smile lighting her face again. “Have to keep the books tied out, you know.”

Yes, demons had a real thing for debts and not just letting them go, blah blah blah. If Loki had collected on every debt that had been owed to him over the years, he had a feeling he’d be in a much better place in life.

Then again, he’d been very happy with where he’d been in life until roughly five minutes ago, considering where he’d been was in bed with the man he loved, their arms wrapped around each other, Loki sleeping soundly because he felt _safe_.

He had a bad feeling that whatever happened here, he wasn’t going to feel safe for a long time.

“Ah,” Loki said, and then, to make sure she knew he’d been listening to her, rather than formulating an escape plan, he repeated, “a debt. Yes. I’m sure he’d be happy to pay it. Only, if he can’t breathe, it might be difficult for him to get the payment.”

Satana tilted her head. The demon holding Stephen against the wall squeezed his hand tighter around Stephen’s throat. Loki felt as though the grip was simultaneously around his heart. “The payment is his life, so this seems like it will work quite well.” Turning around to glance at Loki, she added, “It’s a bonus that you’re here to watch. That makes it _so_ much more delicious.”

Shit. _Shit._ Stephen’s eyes were fluttering closed. “Doesn’t that seem a bit…boring?” he asked.

Her eyebrows arched, more in amusement than interest. “Boring? How do you mean?”

“I mean.” Loki gestured to Stephen. “If you kill him, then he’s just…dead.” With a shrug, he said, “You didn’t even mention acquiring his soul. That seems like a bare minimum but…perhaps you don’t have access to it? I don’t know. I’m just—I believe the humans call it ‘spit-balling?’” Fuck fuck fuck Stephen appeared to have lost consciousness, or if not, he was very near to it. The grip around Loki’s heart tightened. “I just think—well, you’re a demon. Sorry, succubus. Surely there’s _something_ more interesting to you than simply killing someone. That seems, if you don’t mind me saying so, a bit…well…over _done_.”

There was a long, horrible pause. If Stephen died while Loki was sitting there in bed, he would never forgive himself. Another ten seconds, and he’d use his magic, his own life be damned. He’d blow the entire Sanctum into a crater if it meant there was a chance Stephen would survive this.

But then, Satana waved a hand. Her goon dropped Stephen, who crumpled into a heap on the ground. For a second, a horrible, sickening second, he didn’t move. Then he gasped, his hands spasming as he clawed at his throat. Loki’s own throat jumped and he tried to force down the sudden urge to cry. He wanted to go to Stephen, to pull him close and assure him that they would be fine, they would be safe, Loki would murder these people for hurting him.

He couldn’t, though, because the only thing that was likely to happen was that both of them would end up murdered instead. After looking at Stephen, Satana sauntered back over to the bed, sitting down next to Loki. She ran the point of the knife up his throat and over his chin, then rotated it so the flat of the blade stroked over his cheek. “Something more interesting, hm?” she asked. “And what did you have in mind?”

Stephen’s eyes were shut and his chest was heaving. A swell of magic was gathering behind Loki’s palms, in his fingertips, clotting through his veins. It had been years since he’d lost control of it. That didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. “I wouldn’t presume to suggest anything to you,” he said. The pleasantness of his voice amazed him, even though he knew how good at this he was.

Tilting her head, Satana said, “That’s very diplomatic. Then again…” She used the knife to move a piece of his hair, tucking it behind his ear. “What do they call you? The God of Lies?”

“I’ve been trying to rebrand,” he said.

This made her laugh. Again, there were screams contained in the sound. “You’re funny, Loki. What do you prefer now? What are you the god of?”

He hesitated. As he glanced across the room, he saw Stephen finally open his eyes. Their gazes met. “Mischief,” Loki finally replied. “Stories.”

“Stories,” she repeated. “I like stories. Sometimes, a good story is currency enough where I come from.”

“I imagine you have quite the collection.”

“Oh, yes. I do.” She smiled again. “The things I could tell you.” The knife drifted back to his throat but settled at the hem of his shirt, the cotton tunic he wore to bed. “I could _maybe_ be persuaded to leave here and consider Stephen’s debt paid in full…but I would have to have a _very_ good story in exchange.”

Loki was still looking at Stephen, but at this, he shifted his gaze to Satana’s eyes. There was something there he recognized—something that, unfortunately, he was intimately acquainted with. Trying to keep the resignation out of his tone, he asked, “What kind of story?”

Her smile went from pointed to downright lascivious. “I can’t think of a single ruler of any of the realms of Hell who can claim they’ve fucked an Asgardian. Or _any_ denizen of Hell, for that matter.”

Pressing his lips together, Loki replied, “Ah. Well. I suppose the reverse is true for me.”

“Loki, you don’t—” Stephen said, regaining his voice at the worst possible moment.

But at the sound of it, Satana looked delighted. “But this is even _better_. Stephen, you can _watch_.”

Loki felt a muscle twitching in his jaw, but what was he going to say? There was no point in disagreeing, let alone fighting. He would give his life for Stephen Strange. Sex was a small price to pay.

“Yes,” Satana was saying. “Yes, this is perfect. Zepar, find a chair for Stephen. I want him to have a good view.” The demon that had been choking Stephen pulled the armchair in the corner over, then lifted Stephen as though he weighed nothing, dropping him into the chair. Satana produced chains from somewhere on her person, though that shouldn’t have been possible, considering her outfit left nothing to the imagination.

She turned to Loki and studied him. Then, with one swift movement, she sliced her knife down, splitting his shirt. When she got to his pants, she kept going, cutting the waistband. Her other hand shot out, grabbing him around the throat, and she pulled him to his feet. His pants and underwear fell off of their own accord, dropping around his ankles, and she pushed his shirt off, slapping the chains around his wrists before he quite knew what was happening. “We can start with that,” she said. “If you fight, we’ll add more.” At this, she looked him up and down. “To be honest, I hope you fight.”

Shoving him back down onto the bed, she straddled him. He looked at the ceiling. Worse had been done to him. He would lie here, she’d do what she wanted to do, he’d pretend to enjoy it, and then she and her demon entourage would go. Both him and Stephen would be deeply humiliated, et cetera, et cetera. But they’d also both be alive.

Rocking her hips so that they ground into his, she purred, “You were looking before. What happened to all that lust?”

The struggle not to roll his eyes almost undid him. Of course. What was it with demons and lust? “I don’t want to be disrespectful,” he said. A bit ridiculous, really.

And she laughed. “God of Stories, Mischief, Lies, _and_ Manners. Or maybe you’re lying about not wanting to be disrespectful.” Wriggling, she slipped her jumpsuit off her shoulders, baring her breasts. Sliding a hand up his stomach, she grabbed his chained hands and pushed them over his head, bringing her face close to his. “This will only be a good story if you convince me it is,” she whispered, her breath hot.

His eyes moved from the ceiling to meet hers. They were hard and black. He stared.

Then, without warning, he kissed her hard, biting her lip. She made a noise, kissing him back, biting him back until he tasted his own blood, and moved on top of him. Her breasts pressed into his chest and he could feel dampness between her legs, even through her clothes, as she ground her crotch against him.

And of course, his body betrayed him, and he began to get hard.

It wasn’t a surprise, but he still hated himself for it. It was part of the deal, but that didn’t make it any better.

Satana let out a moan and rubbed against him. He felt himself stiffening further, felt a burn in the pit of his stomach that he could no more control than he could stop the sun rising and setting. Funny—every time he thought he might, just possibly, be able to stop loathing himself, something materialized to drag him back and remind him of his fate.

Her hand on his chained wrists let up its pressure, but another hand came down, this one rougher and harder. One of the other demons.

One of the other demons. Loki’s eyes snapped open. Oh. Oh, no. He should have been more exacting about this deal.

She peeled her clothing off further until she was naked, or naked enough, and then she positioned herself over him. When she pushed herself down, he couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped him. She laughed, then breathed, “Yes, you like it, don’t you? Stephen, what do you think? Enjoying the show?”

The last thing Loki was going to do was look at Stephen. He’d be lucky if Stephen ever looked at him again after this.

There was silence from the arm chair, then the sound of a blow; of a hand striking flesh. “Yeah,” Stephen said in a low tone. “It’s really hot. Exactly what I wanted to see tonight.”

“Mmm. Good,” Satana said, moving up and down. One of her hands snaked between her legs so she could touch herself. Small mercies. Loki had no interest in doing so.

As her movements quickened, he felt his own hips jerking up and down, unable to help himself, whispering apologies to Stephen in his mind—not, particularly, apologies that he was doing this, but apologies that Stephen had to see it, that he had to be a part of it. Still. Better Loki than him. He knew he could take it. He was an Asgardian. Stephen was talented and powerful, in his way, but he was human. He was delicate in a way that Loki wasn’t.

“Open your eyes, God of Stories,” Satana said. He did. The sight of her riding him made him sick, but there was something, there was always something in him, that got off on this kind of humiliation. And damn him, damn him, his fingers clenched into fists, he threw his head back, and he came inside her as she laughed that horrible laugh and kept fucking him until he slipped out of her.

With a sigh, she swung a leg over him, standing up. She ran a finger over the inside of her thigh and held it out to Stephen, sticking it in his mouth and asking, “How do you like the taste of your boyfriend and me?”

Stephen just glared.

And she just smiled. “Okay, boys,” she said casually. “Your turn.”

At this, Stephen tried to get up. Huge hands shoved him back into place. “Don’t you fucking dare,” he snarled.

Satana shrugged, as though there was nothing much she could do about it. “A deal’s a deal,” she said, almost regretful. “Your boyfriend failed to be specific about the terms.”

Loki looked up into the leering face of one of the demons. Was this Zepar? He didn’t know. He didn’t care. One of them had tentacles. All of them were massive. His stomach shriveled. There was an ache between his shoulder blades from his hands being chained over his head.

The demon flipped him over onto his stomach. No foreplay with this one. There was the sound of pants dropping to the floor. A hand smacked his arse, far too hard, and then he was spread wide, too wide, before a cock was rammed inside him. No lube, of course. Too hard, too big; Loki’s senses immediately deserted him and all he felt was pain, agony, this would split him open; could he taste blood? No, that made no sense. The demon began fucking him roughly and Loki didn’t…pass out, exactly, but he didn’t quite stay there, either. It hurt too much.

Though, by the time the one with the tentacles got around to fucking him, he may have drifted in and out of consciousness a few times. Mortifyingly, he thought he may have come once more; someone had grabbed his cock at one point; or perhaps it had been in someone’s mouth. He hoped it hadn’t been Stephen’s; he hoped Stephen had only had to watch this, even though that wasn’t much better.

The room fuzzed in and out of being and he heard a voice say, “Pleasure doing business with you, Stephen. Come visit my diner again sometime, yeah?”

There was a sound, as though of flames hissing across coals. Then, hands touched him.

Loki jerked away, making a noise that couldn’t even be called a cry. A whimper, maybe, but something more pathetic. The hands abruptly lifted way from him.

“It’s me,” Stephen said, his voice steady. “It’s just me.”

Loki realized he was still face down on the mattress. Could he speak? Could he move? Did he _want_ to do either? Experimentally, he made a noise in his throat. Something seemed to happen. So he was still in one piece from the neck up, at least. “I think you should get rid of this mattress,” Loki said nonchalantly.

Or at least, he wanted it to come out nonchalant. Instead, it sounded hoarse, slurred, and not nearly as funny as he’d thought it would be.

“Loki,” Stephen breathed.

He felt as though he should probably cry. What had just happened to him had been terrible by anyone’s standards, even his—and he’d experienced a great many terrible things. But his eyes were dry. “I’m sorry,” he said, his words muffled by the horrible mattress. There was a light, hesitant touch at his head, fingers ghosting across his hair, and at this, Loki did whimper. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t want them to hurt you.”

“You could have escaped any time,” Stephen said, his voice low.

It felt like he couldn’t breathe. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was lying face down or for some other reason. “I didn’t want them to hurt you.” Had he said that already? It didn’t matter. It was still true.

Shaky hands touched his hair again and Stephen said, “Are you okay here for a second?”

This made Loki want to laugh, but he knew if he started he might not stop. So he just made a noise of assent. There was a whooshing noise and he knew Stephen had teleported away. It crossed his mind to wonder if this was what Stephen had wanted to do the entire time; simply get out of there, until he dismissed it. He knew it wasn’t true.

Within a minute, there was another whoosh. The mattress depressed under Stephen’s weight as he sat down next to Loki. “I brought you some water,” he said. There was a strangled note to his voice as he added, “Not to be totally ineffectual or anything.”

The pain between Loki’s legs couldn’t even properly be described as being between his legs. It radiated up through his gut, through his torso, practically into his chest. His intestines felt like they couldn’t be anything but pounded into meat. He would, of course, be fine. Eventually. But it wasn’t pleasant in the meantime.

With a grunt of pain, Loki balled his fists and moved his arms to get one under him. He didn’t remember the chains being removed, but they were gone. As he levered himself into a sitting position, he felt a gush of liquid pour out of him. Blood? Demon cum? A combination of both, he was sure, which he didn’t want to see. With a flick of his fingers, he cleared it away with magic so he wouldn’t have to, even accidentally.

For the first time, he looked at Stephen. They’d hurt him, despite Loki’s best intentions. There was a bruise on his throat, which didn’t surprise Loki. But one of his eyes was also swollen shut. There was a gash across his cheek and blood was still leaking slowly from it. His wrists were rubbed raw and bloody, which meant they’d restrained him and he’d fought. Loki wished he hadn’t. At least he wasn’t dead.

With a smile that broke Loki’s heart, Stephen offered him the water. The glass was sweating—the room was warm, no doubt a side effect of having five—or was it six?—demons inside. Unbidden, the thought slipped through his head that the same could be said for him, which was morbid and horrible enough that he could do nothing but laugh. Stephen watched him, looking weary. The glass was shaking in his hands, water sloshing almost up and over the sides, despite the fact that he’d only filled it half full, clearly anticipating this problem. Loki took it and gulped down a mouthful, mostly to stop himself from laughing, then hiccuped as he nearly sent a portion of it into his lungs.

“Are you alright?” Loki asked, wrapping his fingers around the cool glass.

Stephen gave him an incredulous look. “ _Me?_ ”

Loki shrugged.

Raising a trembling hand to his hair, Stephen ran his fingers through it, looking like he was digging them into his scalp. “Jesus. I don’t…” His throat jumped as he swallowed hard. “You shouldn’t have done…” But he shook his head, at a loss for words. What was there to say, really?

But Loki knew Stephen Strange. The man couldn’t _not_ say something. “I don’t want to…put you in a position where you…fuck. I don’t know. Where you feel like you need to do what you just did.”

“Don’t break up with me to protect me, Stephen,” Loki said, tracing paths across the condensation on the glass with a fingertip, his eyes locked on the trails it left. “That might be a bit much for me right now.”

A hand slid over one of his and Loki intertwined his fingers with Stephen’s, holding tight. “You know that’s not what I want.”

There was still an ache between Loki’s shoulders. The way they were rolled forward, the way he was slumping, wasn’t doing him any favors there. But he couldn’t bring himself to straighten up. Slouching made the pain everywhere else seem more manageable. “I’m sorry they made you watch,” Loki said. “I didn’t want that. I’m sorry you had to see it.”

Stephen was shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. Christ. They came for me. You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

With a short, harsh exhalation of breath, Loki said, “I would rather you didn’t, either. I did what I needed to do. I don’t regret it.”

“I don’t want you to feel like you need to make that decision—”

“Stephen, I love you,” Loki interrupted. “I would do anything to keep you safe. Though I didn’t manage to completely accomplish that, I’ll admit…but at least you’re alive.” He rolled his shoulders back. The tightness between them stretched out a little. “I’ll live.”

For the first time, Stephen’s eyes looked wet. And _that_ scared Loki. Stephen only cried when things got bad. If he cried, Loki might have to admit how much he wanted to, and all of this would be a thousand times worse. “I’ve seen a lot of terrible things, Loki,” he said quietly.

“And that was the worst, I’m sure,” Loki said, supplying the logical end to this before Stephen’s voice could shatter his heart into a million pieces. “That was the idea. They’re demons. Torment is rather what they do.” He shook his head. “I’ll get over it. Don’t worry about me. The torture was for you.” Loki stroked his thumb over Stephen’s scars. “If I were you, I’m not sure I’d want to look at me ever again, let alone anything else.”

At this, Stephen swallowed hard again, then plucked the glass from Loki’s hand and set it on the bedside table. He moved forward but stopped. “Can I touch you?” he asked.

Loki’s throat closed up. This man. This decent, good, perfect man. He pulled Stephen closer himself and Stephen’s arms went around him, his face pressed to the side of Loki’s head. Neither of them spoke. Minutes passed that way, maybe a quarter of an hour, maybe more. Though Loki was by far the stronger between the two of them, there was comfort in the strength of Stephen’s arms around him. There was safety there, in that small circle, with the feeling of Stephen’s heart beating against his, even if the world had just reminded him that there was no safety, not for him. Not for either of them.

“I failed you,” Stephen said into his hair.

Loki shook his head, his eyes squeezed shut. “Wrong. You made me love you so much that I’ll do anything for you. Hardly a failure.” Even if he wasn’t often convinced by the idea of his affection being particularly meaningful. Leaning into Stephen, holding him tighter, he said, “I’m selfish. Do you really think I can stand the idea of losing you?” Not now, not when he’d lose Stephen anyway. The decades they would have together were the most precious thing in the universe, more precious than any silver or gold or Uru or any Infinity Stone.

Turning his head so they were face to face, he brushed his lips over Stephen’s. “I’ll be fine,” he repeated. “I just want you to be fine, too.”

The furrow in Stephen’s brow was deep and pained, but at least he didn’t object to this. “You have to stop taking metaphorical bullets for me,” he finally said.

With a tiny laugh, Loki said, “Unlikely. I’m Asgardian. I can handle them far better than you can.” He put a hand to the back of Stephen’s head, burying his fingers in his soft hair. It always stuck up in the back when he woke up in the morning. It was doing so now. The feeling of it was like a balm on Loki’s soul.

There was a silence, but finally, Stephen sighed. “Loki,” he breathed. “Loki, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t,” Loki said. “Please. Don’t. I make my own choices. I won’t pretend this one wasn’t unpleasant. But it was mine to make.” What he meant was, _please don’t take that from me. I can handle this if it was my choice, even if it was only in name only._

And he knew Stephen understood that. Stephen understood him as well as anyone ever had. When he leaned his forehead against Loki’s with a resigned bump, Loki knew the conversation was over. For now, at least. Neither of them spoke for another few minutes, but finally, Stephen said, “I love you. I’ll never stop. Nothing could make me stop.”

Loki nodded, feeling choked up again. All he managed was, “Okay.”

There was no point in suggesting going back to sleep. That was fine. All Loki wanted to think about was the press of Stephen’s arms around him and the feeling of his soft breathing against his face. Morning would come.

It would be fine.


End file.
